


The Spy Who Floored Me

by by_no_one_more_than_me (Lady_Cleo)



Category: Spy (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Just to be safe, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Movie(s), rated for language, this movie was awesome and deserves ALL the love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/by_no_one_more_than_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I were being romantic, you'd be on the floor, soaking wet and breathless, wondering what came over you."</p><p>Susan didn't realize Ford was capable of telling the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spy Who Floored Me

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Dallas, who laughed over this line with me.
> 
> rated T for language

_“If I were being romantic, you’d be on the floor soaking wet and breathless, wondering what came over you.”_

It hadn’t happened that way- at least not the first time. Purloined champagne and beef jerky had led to a hazy night in Ford’s arms and a few moments of screaming regret in the morning. Rick insisted he’d swept her off her feet, but ‘refused to repeat his wooing lines for such a doubter.’

The _next_ time, however…had been another story entirely. After 22 days of assignments, dinners, fights, blistering makeup sex, cake and cuddles Susan had pointed out that it had in fact been three weeks since they’d gotten together. Somehow, this had led to an argument that ended with Susan flipping him over her shoulder and driving back to her apartment after he started in with that “seventeen hours in a Lebanese souvlaki stand affects your memory!” bull.

They hadn’t talked for four days, and Susan was starting to worry that it was all over. The thought made her sadder than she’d expected, given that it had _anything_ to do with Rick Ford.

Day five Elaine had assigned her to avert an assassination attempt on the Canadian Prime Minister. Operation Wilted Maple went off without a hitch, and she was home in 48 hours. On the way back from the airport, the driver had asked where she wanted to go; Ford’s address had rolled off her tongue like a solid alibi.

There had been a moment of hesitation as she went to knock and halted when she heard soft music playing inside. Rick Ford listened to Norah Jones without a chainsaw threatening his testicles like she got lubed over Marilyn Manson- which was to say never. The knob turned easily under her hand, negating the burning need she suddenly had to kick the door down and use it to beat whoever he was with to death.

She burst into the room… and stopped short. Candles flickered gently on countertops, the scent of roast chicken and vegetables, herbs and butter hovered in the air, an intimate table was set for two, and a bouquet of sterling roses stood in a crystal vase on the coffee table.

Tears pricked her eyes at the romantic sight, then an entirely different burn began as her face flamed and the adrenaline began to surge with mild sub-psychotic rage.

When he appeared from the bedroom - tugging a cuff into alignment on a classic cut tuxedo, ever-present stubble on his cheeks glistening in the candlelight - the knife was through the air before she realized she’d even picked it up. Years of training saw him flexing out of the way, and the point sank harmlessly into the wall behind him.

“Susan- what the fuck?!”

“What the... eff, yourself! Where is she?!”

“Who the fuck are you talking about?!” He roared back, moving to block her when she headed for the bedroom. She wheeled out of his reach and flung an arm at the transformed living room.

“Whoever all this is for!”

The disgruntled shock on his face dissolved into his gruff-from-infrequent-use laughter. “All this… is for **you** , bizarre woman.”

Susan blinked. “Wh-what?”

Ford took her hand and gently led her to a chair, releasing her to pull it out for her, and sliding it in once she was seated. He retrieved a bottle of champagne and brought it to the table, popping the cork and pouring them each a measure before sitting down himself. “We were fighting because I didn’t remember our three-week anniversary so I started to plan this for our one-month, and when I heard you were coming home today, I got everything ready for you.”

To keep herself from overtalking as was her wont, Susan took a sip of sparkling champagne- which turned out to be a gulp to steady her nerves, which made her choke and splutter out a winded “why?” before she could stop herself.

Ford seemed offended she had to ask. “I can be romantic and shit. I told you that in the casino that night.”

Waving a hand to clear the air as she tried to stop coughing, she wheezed out, “No… I mean *cough* I had my doubts when you said that but *cough* no- why would you do all this for me?” He waited until she was able to breathe normally again before taking her breath away with his reply.

“Because. You deserve it. You are completely and utterly worth…” As he paused, Susan braced herself for a bowl-me-over compliment from the man currently melting her heart with the flowery flamethrower of his speech. “All the aggravation, the occasional chafe or bite mark or muscle strain, the knocks to my ego that would fell a less secure man caused by you being so good at our job, and the additional working out I’ve had to add to an already punishing fitness regimen that is so tough it makes Navy SEALs blubber like ringletted toddlers with skinned knees to offset the fabulously tempting creations you defile my kitchen to make.”

 _Oh. Well, so maybe not_ **completely** _bowl me over._ Her eyes dropped to a loose thread in the patterned tablecloth, and her nails itched to pick at it. When they flashed back up so she could say something, the words stuck in her throat at the sight of his intense stare – a variant of the one he used to intimidate people he bothered to interrogate. She managed to swallow the lump down when his hand slid to take hers, drawing it up to his mouth for a brief kiss across her knuckles.

She managed a hushed "Good gravy, Ford..." as little zings of electricity licked trails up her fingers and down her spine and between her thighs and across her heart.

“Because… you make me happy. And after spending the better part of my life ingesting poisons, being on fire, killing people, diving 400 meters without an oxygen tank just to assassinate a dolphin that was trying to take over the Milan Spring Shows, and having bamboo planted so the new shoots would grow under my fingernails, I wasn’t expecting to be happy. So I just… want to make you happy too. If that’s alright with you.”

The lip she’d drawn between her teeth slipped out to meet its twin in a smile that rivaled the candles in its glow. “Yeah. It’s absolutely alright with me.”

* * *

Three hours later she woke up on the floor, soaking wet, bruised, tasting chocolate and salt, and wondering how she’d gotten every other stitch of clothing off Ford without undoing his bowtie.

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: SPY was AWESOME and I'm really REALLY happy to see Melissa McCarthy getting the recognition (and wardrobe) she deserves.
> 
> That delightfully layered double entendre Rick utters in the Casino stuck in my head like a sniper dart, and okay- I was already ficcing this before the end credits rolled.  
> Hope you like it. Comments are appreciated!


End file.
